Page 57 of Who Let The Wolves Out?

Hazel grins, sharp and delighted. “Don’t hurt her, Wolf Boy. Or I’ll hex your eyebrows crooked for life.”

“Fair,” he says, coughing down a laugh.

I grab a tray and all but dive for the oatmeal station.

Jason slides in beside me a minute later, whispering, “You okay?”

“I think I just died.”

“Could be worse,” he says. “Could’ve been one of the were-teen boys.”

I side-eye him. “You’dmaulthem.”

“Damn right.”

I try not to smile.

But I do anyway.

Because somehow, even in a cafeteria full of chaos, surrounded by waffle syrup and witchy teenagers.

I feel like I belong.

Later that morning, we end up by the lake.

The sun’s fully out now, chasing off the last of the storm’s chill. The water sparkles in that way it only does after rain—like it’s been scrubbed clean overnight.

The kids are splashing around, shrieking, diving, doing the kind of cannonballs that drench everything in a three-yard radius. Nolan’s midair, arms pinwheeling, and Rubi is explaining breath-holding techniques to a very unimpressed Ferix.

On the floating dock, Ryder the lifeguard lounges like a Renaissance statue brought to life—hair slicked back, mirrored sunglasses on, scales catching the light with every lazy flick of his tail. He doesn’t need a whistle. He justlooksat the kids, and they behave.

Jason and I sit on a sun-warmed bench near the dock.

He doesn’t say anything at first.

Just slides his fingers into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it is.

His thumb strokes the back of my hand.

It’s nothing flashy. No kisses. No dramatic declarations.

Just this.

A shared stillness.

I let my head rest on his shoulder.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I don’t feel like I’m bracing for the fall.

I just feel… okay.

More than okay.

Safe.

Seen.

---